This is War
by Group Hugs For Everyone
Summary: Shawn always wonders if he's partly crazy, but his battle against the person who truly is will leave him scarred and mangled. Scared to keep living. As those around him and he himself struggle with this new case, will he survive?//Dark new series, high T.
1. The Media

_**A/N:** New Psych fic, fun. I've been working on this for awhile with my beta, so I hope you enjoy. Remember to review, dears.  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Psych, slurpees, or even chocolate. Yes, I know, I'm sad too.  
**Warning:** Strong violence in upcoming chapters, rating might go up.  
**Season:** A little while after Shawn Takes a Shot in the Dark, his arm is healed.  
**Spoilers:** Some for Shawn Takes a Shot in the Dark  
**Pairings:** None as of yet, might change in future chapters.  
**Beta:** Meatball42, AKA Jillybean  
**Rating:** T  
**Chapter Title:** The Media Stole My Brain, Shawn!_

* * *

"Death. It's something I've gotten used to, something I see everyday."

"Something you do every day, you mean." Growled Carlton Lassiter, glancing away from the eyes that so casually flitted about the room. The voice that spoke moments before was nonchalant, uncaring, bored even. A low chuckle filled the air.

"It didn't start that way, detective. You should know."

Carlton winced, glancing up at the ceiling as if asking for help from a being on high. He straightened his back, forcing his eyes to return to the person before him. This was easy compared to the past few days, all he had to do was get the statement and send this person—no, this killer. Because he couldn't dare to think of this psychotic _thing_ as human—off to jail. "Just tell me the story from the beginning."

"All right, detective. But, just so you know, I'm very particular over the details." A malicious grin spread, and Carlton couldn't hold back a shudder at the thought of what was to come. "Hmm, where to start? Oh, I know."

* * *

_The cut was perfect; blood ran down in a little red river of sin. This was good, right, justice. It was what was deserved, and I held no remorse. But the blood, the cut, it was oh-so fascinating. It was clean and perfect, A+ material, and it didn't deserve to be on such foul skin. But, still, it was justice. And justice must be served at all costs._

_Even if it's too perfect._

* * *

"If there is a point to this, I'd rather you get to it quickly." Carlton snarled, shifting in the cold metal of his seat.

Another low chuckle.

"Patience, detective, patience." The voice was almost playful before turning dead serious, "If we're gonna do this the least you can do is do it my way."

Carlton nodded, whether he was agreeing or just using the motion to relieve the tension in his neck he didn't know.

"Good."

* * *

_At the moment I was in joy, ecstasy. I believed none could stop me. And, for awhile, none could. Until, of course, all of you came along._

* * *

Shawn Spencer shuffled into the Psych building, wincing as he strained his arm, and slurped on his—aptly named—slurpee. The building was dark except for the dim glow of the TV set up in the other room, and Shawn could just make out the outline of Gus' head in the light. Setting his slurpee on his desk, Shawn glanced out the window and smiled slightly. Lately, after he'd been shot, he'd taken to watching the moon at night. It was calming, kept out the threats that repeated themselves so often in his head.

It kept out the numerous dreams where he never got that call to Jules, where the gun was always placed to his temple. Where he always died, over and over, again and again.

"Shawn! Get your butt in here before I make you," Gus shouted from the other room, making Shawn snort in laughter.

Shawn then decided something. He decided that his next big case would be to find the person who said best friends were compassionate when you have been shot and/or kidnapped and arrest him for all those brush fires he started. Didn't anybody know the term 'liar, liar, pants on fire' anymore?

"Aw, is wittle Gussy-Wussy afraid?" Shawn crooned as he strutted into the dark room, smirking down at Gus who sat on the floor with eyes fixed to the TV.

"No, Shawn. Watching old horror movies at night in the building you claim that a ghost haunts doesn't scare me at all," Gus replied, and Shawn frowned as he tried to figure whether that was sarcastic or not. Why did his friend have to have such a messed up sarcasm voice?

"Hey, there is a ghost haunting the place! You read the story online."

"Firstly, you could have typed that up for all I know. Secondly, you don't believe in ghosts. Thirdly, what does scare me is when channel 5 News interrupts the old horror movies with news of a serial killer."

Shawn turned to the TV and, sure enough, ol' Gary Mendez was rattling on about a rather large gravesite found by a couple of teens who went to bury a dead animal. Economist freaks that they were, they didn't feel right about letting the body decompose above ground and put the small—what was that, a cat? Squirrel? Mutated rat?—animal in a bag, carried it to the woods, and started digging.

They found a hand first. Next it was a head, a foot, two other hands. Then, naturally, they called the police. They had fifteen bodies, and counting.

The worst part about the tragedy—so said FBI agent Aaron Leeland, who was working together with SBPD—was that the parts were badly decomposed, cut, chopped, the list went on. It would take some time before they found out who the bodies were, or if they had been reported missing.

"We will keep you updated on what is being called the Santa Barbara Sweeney Todd case." Gary Mendez blinked at the teleprompter, furrowing his brow slightly at the name. "And now, back to your show."

"And now," stated a monotone voice with creepy music playing in the background. "A word from our sponsors"

Shawn turned to Gus, a glint in his murky eyes that Gus knew far too well. Shawn laughed eagerly, clapping his hands together.

"We're getting on that case, Gus. I can feel it!"

* * *

I narrowed my eyes at the TV; I should have been more careful. No. No, I was careful. Damn teens, I'd have to change my ways. Gotta make it clean, perfect. A+. I can do it, I know I can.

I could use some chocolate.

I glanced at the mangled flesh in front of me before tossing my knife aside and wiping my hands on a clean patch of shirt that I tore from the victim. It was time for lunch, anyhow.


	2. Rose from the Dead

_**A/N:** And here is our lovely chapter two. Please remember to review, dears.  
**Warning: **Slightly graphic.  
__**Disclaimer:** If I owned Psych, you'd probably be watching this play out and not reading it.  
**Beta:** Jillybean, AKA Meatball42  
**Rating: **High T  
**Pairing: **None_

_

* * *

_

Chapter Two  
Something That Rose from the Dead....On My Head

"So at the same time that Shawn Spencer found out about the murders, you were killing again." Carlton clarified, shifting once more in his seat before taking a sip of the coffee on the table.

"Correct."

"And how many victims would it have been, including that one?"

"Oh," the tone was somewhat disappointed, mocking. "I'm afraid I don't count how many people have received their ounce of justice. Do you, detective?"

Carlton blinked, writing down something briefly on the notepad in front of him before turning back. "Continue."

* * *

_It was cold, so cold. I could feel little drops of water—blood?—on my skin. Over and over, pricking sensation. Images, little blips of light, flashing before my eyes. The laughter, I always heard it. I'd never forget it. It was impossible to forget, to wipe one's mind, so I did the next best thing. I embraced it._

_I suppose he didn't like it, stared at me oddly when I wouldn't beg or cry or scream as more water—blood, it's blood—freckled my skin. He stared and stared and stared, and I stared right back. I wasn't scared or worried because I knew._

_I knew about life and death, I knew about what he'd done—hell, I saw what he'd done—and it didn't frighten me, I knew that he wouldn't kill me because he was worried. He was worried I had become him. I didn't tell him, but I did._

_And I loved every minute of it._

* * *

Carlton Lassiter was the head detective of the Santa Barbara Police Department and, under normal circumstances, he would have been ticked that he hadn't been placed in charge of this case. But it wasn't normal. It wasn't right. It was starting to chalk up as the biggest case they'd ever had. He'd seen the bodies, the mangled slabs of flesh in the morgue, and had seen the unspeakable damage done to each body.

It was enough to give one nightmares.

Apparently searching half of Santa Barbara for Shawn Spencer with the older Henry Spencer wasn't enough stress on Carlton for the fates, they just had to pile it up. And so, no, he wasn't ticked that Agent Aaron Leeland was placed as the lead detective. He was relieved.

Blue eyes didn't even have to travel upwards to notice the menace that suddenly chilled the room.

"No, Spencer." Carlton said sharply as Shawn bounced up to him, reeling and ready to manipulate his way onto the case.

"What? Oh, come on, Lassie! At least let me get past my normal blow to your ego of the day," Shawn crossed his arms, tilting his head to the side as he eyed Lassiter's state of dress. "You look terrible."

Carlton rubbed his eyes before forcing himself to look upwards. "Yes, Spencer, serial killer cases tend to do that to me." He sighed, glancing at the rest of the precinct—which was in a state of frantic hustle and bustle—and praying to what powers that be that he'd get Spencer out of his hair quickly. "What do you want?"

Shawn sobered—actually _sobered_, was he dreaming?—and sighed, uncrossing his arms. "Well, I could tell you that the spirits guided me here telling me that you guys need help on this whole Santa Barbara Sweeney Todd thing, or I could just say that you haven't given me a case for weeks and I _need_ something."

Carlton glared at Shawn, rolling his shoulders to relieve some of the tension that continued to build upon Shawn's speech. "No, Spencer. Don't go bothering Chief Vick; she's under enough stress—"

"Do I detect actual concern?"

"—we all are, so back off. You have an arm to heal, anyhow." Carlton continued as though he had never been interrupted.

Shawn frowned, quickly glancing around the precinct and realizing that it was much busier than he previously thought. People dashed about, spoke on phones, yelled information to one another, and all in all appeared to be quite flustered. Jules was speaking rapidly with a dark haired man and, just beyond the protective glass windows, he could see Karen Vick talking rapidly into a phone and rubbing her forehead. He rubbed his arm absent-mindedly.

"My arm is fine, clean bill of health, full range of motion and all that." Shawn turned back to Carlton, who seemed to have followed his gaze, and smiled slightly. "I'll be real good and eat all my veggies and stay super-duper quiet."

Carlton glared up at Shawn, mouth open to fully condemn the man to hell and back, when Juliet O'Hara and the man Shawn saw previously came up.

"Lassiter, we've confirmed another victim. Gabriel Monchez," Juliet stated briefly, sending nervous glances to the taller man beside her.

Shawn frowned, the name was familiar. Monchez...he squinted, trying to rearrange his thoughts and recall the facts he knew were somewhere in his brain. And, slowly but surely, an idea crossed his mind.

"Who were the other victims?" Shawn spoke up; ignoring the warning glare Carlton shot him. Juliet, catching it, said nothing as the man beside her spoke up.

"And who are you?"

"Shawn Spencer, head psychic." Shawn grinned, leaning against Carlton's desk. "And you?"

"Agent Aaron Leeland, FBI. I'm leading the investigation."

Shawn blinked, cocking his head to the side. So _that's_ why the man looked familiar, he was on the news.

"The other victims, those that were lucky enough to be identified, are Hana Gleene, Sarah Bumle, Howard Mairl, Eric Day and Gabriel Monchez." Leeland glanced at his file, flicking the photos away with a grimace.

"They've committed crimes," Shawn whispered, capturing Leeland's attention once more.

"Pardon?"

Shawn immediately raised a hand to his temple, scrunching his body inward as he squinted. "They're in my mind, I see them. They've committed crimes, high profile. The killer is a vigilante." He gasped out, reaching towards the file. "Victims of victims, people dead, alive, kidnapped, torture. Brief flashes of people, he's—she's," Shawn groaned and reached for the file once more.

Leeland pulled the manila folder out of Shawn's reach, looking faintly contemplative. "Very well, I'll call in a request for background checks. Thank you, Mr. Spencer."

Shawn panted—pretended to, at least—and smiled slightly. "This mean I'm on the case?"

"That depends on Agent Leeland, Spencer." A voice declared from behind him, and Shawn whirled about quickly to face Chief Vick. She held several files in her grasp and, peeking out of one of the folders, was a photo of a victim. Shawn only guessed it to be that of the Sweeney Todd serial killer, and had difficulty tearing his eyes away.

It seemed a relatively fresh kill; no massive decay had taken place yet. There was a head and an arm, that was it. But it was gruesome, cuts, ranging from long and deep to small and shallow and everything in between, mutilated the face. An eye was gouged out, possibly even ripped by the way it looked, and the arm was missing several fingers. Flesh had been ripped from the arm, and blood splattered whatever skin was left.

"I would prefer it if he wasn't on the case, there have been many rumors of disorderly conduct and we can't risk that. Not on this case." Leeland stated, effectively startling Shawn.

He pretended not to notice how Juliet and Carlton looked at him after they realized what he'd been staring at. "Gus and I would be great contributions to your case, Agent Leeland."

"I'm sorry," Leeland stated sharply, his tone and behavior revealing that he wasn't sorry at all. "A case like this is far too big for a police consultant to handle, now if you'll excuse me."

Shawn frowned again as Chief Vick spoke up. "That settles it, then. I've got a cold case for you, Mr. Spencer. Been cold for three years, I think it's around your expertise."

Shawn, realizing his defeat for the moment, nodded and followed Vick to her office, trying desperately not to listen in to Lassiter, Juliet and Leeland talking over the newest victim.

Now just wasn't the time.

* * *

It was wise, not to put him on the case. Made my job so much easier, anyhow. See, I had a plan. I always have a plan; a plan is all that keeps one sane. And I couldn't just devolving, go on a killing spree without an escape plan.

To do that would seal my death as well as the victims. You see, I'm afraid of death. Everyone is. Ignore the comments of those self-righteous and smug murderers; we're all afraid of death. You heard of 'we're all afraid of something'? Well, that something is death. Doesn't matter if you have a religion and believe you're going to hell or heaven, you're still afraid of death. Because death, no matter how you die, hurts. And we don't like pain.

We're relatively fragile, anyhow. Takes but a pound of pressure to break skin. Can you imagine? A pound? Hardly heavy at all, a small dog is heavier. I suppose that's why I liked using knives. They're simple, elegant, makes it easier to feel. Slower, gives time to absorb the little emotions. See, we're all afraid of death.

My plan involved death. But that didn't matter. It would work anyhow.


	3. Muse is Addictive

_**A/N:** Thanks be to Enid18 for reminding be of This is War. Now, unfortunately, I've lost the ability to do my linebreaks for some reason. I don't know if it's my computer or if it's FFN, but I hope you all don't mind. I also haven't been getting back from Meatball42 on one of my chapters. I'll tell you when I'm no longer getting the beta, but for now just read. I'll try to get the others up soon. I'm terribly sorry for the wait.  
**Disclaimer: **Does it look like I own Psych? *glances down at Cheetos shirt and jeans*  
**Pairing: **I've decided not to do a romance-y thing in this. Also, Abigail is still mysteriously…missing.  
**Warning:** Violence. Please, do not let my story be the trigger that makes you go on a killing spree. As amazing as it would be if I could meet BAU members, I really don't want to be chastised by them.  
**Chapter: **Muse is Quite Addicting  
--------_

"Just between you and me, I got somethin' to say. I wanna get this straight before the sun goes down. Just between you and me, a confession needs to be made. Recompense is my way to freedom now."

"Stop singing," Carlton growled, slamming his hand on the cold, metal table. The chains connecting the killer—the _thing _to the table clinked heavily.

"Just trying to relieve the tension, detective."

Carlton rubbed his face, he had to calm down. _Its_ brutality and nonchalance as _it_ described the victim and what had been done was maddening. And yet he knew that this was only the beginning, there was no comfort of the worst being over. But he needed to calm down. He needed to get through this interrogation without a blemish, or he'd probably get the boot.

It didn't matter if this case had been hard on them all; eyes had been focused on him during the entire thing.

"Just continue."

"Aye, aye, Captain Cheerio."

------

_My first kill was…amateur. I could've done so much better, and I knew it. He knew it. Hell, I bet the corpse knew it. The cuts were too large, I hit too many major arteries, too many veins, they were too deep…he bled out before I was done. And that was the worst thing that could've happened._

_I didn't get a confession._

_He stood above me, striking me. Flesh against flesh, and it burned. I could smell smoke, fire, and I knew I'd been bad. I messed up, far too much. We had practiced. Cats, dogs, pigs, cows, deer. We had practiced and I messed up. I didn't feel when he stabbed me with my own knife, I didn't even notice when I had retaliated and killed him. I just kept thinking…._

_Thinking I needed to do better._

_-----_

"How did you know it, Shawn?" Gus asked, his voice taking on that high pitched tone that showed he wanted to know something and, dammit, he wanted to know now.

"What? The Wendy's chili recipe? Sorry, Gus, I'm sworn to secrecy."

"I meant the case, Shawn. How did you figure out the Sweeney Todd murderer was a vigilante?

"Firstly," Shawn leaned back casually in his chair, feet propped on his desk, and tossed a ball in the air, catching and repeating. "The name is redundant. Sweeney Todd slit throats and gave the bodies to Mrs. Lovett, who made all of London cannibals."

"Shawn, get to the point."

"Right!" Shawn surged in his chair, putting down his ball. "It was the name, Monchez. Gabriel Monchez had kidnapped and murdered five children. Dad was on that case years back. They hadn't been able to charge him. Similar stories with Hana and Sara, I figured it was the only connection."

Gus sighed, deciding not to go into the whole '_hunches like that are going to kill us all_' speech and focused on the file. "So what's the cold case about?"

"Guy killed a kid's parents in front of her, let the kid go, ran off and never was heard from again. They know who did it, his name, aliases, but the trail runs cold. No sightings since the kill, three years ago."

"Ouch. Guy's name?"

"Tobias Hankel."

"The guy who tortured Reid on Criminal Minds?"

"Dude," Shawn exclaimed, picking up his ball and throwing it at Gus' head. "It's like I don't even know you!"

"Criminal Minds happens to be a very compelling TV show about FBI profilers."

"Anyways, logical thing would be to look at the notes of who worked the case."

"And we're going to…?" Gus trailed off, sending Shawn a questioning glance.

"Talk to the sixteen year old kid."

"Wait," Gus raised a hand. "She was thirteen when all this went down?"

"Yeah, her name is Levi Deemer." Shawn stood, tossing Gus his keys. "Frostys on the way?"

"You know that's right." A pause. "Hey, Shawn?"

"Hmm?"

"Why'd you have my keys?"

-----

"I don't like it," Juliet sighed, making Lassiter glance up from his seat at the desk.

"Nobody does, O'Hara. This guy is brutal, and I honestly don't care if he's some vigilante, nobody deserves that amount of brutality."

"No. I meant about Leeland not letting Shawn on the case."

Lassiter narrowed his eyes, "Shawn would be a danger to this case."

"Maybe," Juliet sighed again. "But Shawn could also help; he has a perfect track record. And I just feel this case would be finished a lot sooner if he was helping."

"That may be, but Leeland has decided." Lassiter echoed her sigh. "And, honestly, after he got shot and most likely traumatized, a cold case would probably be best for now."

"Yeah, I guess. Coroner figure out what kind of knives were used?"

"They were homemade."

---------

Shawn Spencer had been having nightmares. I could tell. There were dark bags under his eyes, a haunted look gleaming in the murky hazel. I could sense his fear, and I noticed the way he winced ever so slightly if he used his right arm. That was warning enough that he was going under, fizzing out, but it was easy to go a little deeper.

A little sleuthing, some calls to a few connections, and I found out what happened. He'd been kidnapped, shot, and somehow had passed his appointment with the psychiatrist without getting to the _real_ issue. That was good for me, though. Manipulation of the mind is so easy, especially if you build up a trust. Not that he'd know it was me, but still.

I could tell he'd already been scared by what I had done; I knew he'd seen the pictures despite how careful they were to not reveal them to anyone that didn't have to see them. He was losing the battle for sanity.

I just had to sway the odds in my favor.


	4. Honestly, I'm Parched

_**A/N: **__Best chapters, in my opinion, are ahead. I have up to chapter seven written, and I can't wait to get that chapter out. It really makes or breaks the story, in my opinion. However, this chapter is extremely important as well. We get some more Gus/Shawn interaction, learn a bit more about the killer, and I don't do the end first person. But I don't think this chapter really needs it, so everyone can deal. Unfortunately, this is where I was no longer able to reach my beta. Sorry for that. Please, don't forget to review!  
__**Disclaimer:**__ Still don't own Psych. But if I did, I wouldn't have had the last episode so very bittersweet unto Shawn…then again, maybe I would have. I mean, I __am__ writing this….  
__**Warnings:**__ Still the same as the past few.  
__**Pairing:**__ I've decided to throw a bit of everything in (including Shabby), so in future chapter you'll see it all.  
__**Chapter:**__ Honestly, I'm Parched_

----------  
"Do you think I could get a drink?"

"No," Carlton entered sharply, not glancing up from his notes. He gritted his teeth at the sigh from _It._

"Youwound me, detective."

Carlton forced himself to look up, staring straight into the eyes, dark with a sort of sadistic pleasure, he so hated at the moment. "Why not think about those you've maimed instead?"

_It_ leaned back. "Oh, I do, detective. Every day. I think quite a lot. I think about how they deserved it, how you refused to bring justice upon them, refused to see it through."

"What you did was sick."

"Matter of opinion."  
--------------------

_The oak trees were beautiful that time of year. I walked slowly, gripping the white and yellow daisies tightly._

_I imagined, for a long time, that those who died were turned into angels. It wasn't long before I realized that they were turned into demons as well, demons that could haunt or hurt or possess. Sometimes, I wasn't sure who turned into which._

_I placed the flowers at the gravestone, smiling grimly. At least I knew what I'd turn into._

_The Angel of Death.  
---------------------------_

Shawn knocked on the door, wincing at the music that flowed out of the open window. Gus gently shoved him aside.

"I got this." He nodded shortly, turning to the door and leaving Shawn somewhat dumbfounded.

"Dude," he flicked Gus' ear. "I knock, I talk to the girl." Gus turned angrily, raising a finger to point at Shawn's face.

"This girl, Levi, had her parents killed in front of her when she was thirteen. That was only three years ago, the memory is probably fresh in her mind—"

"Gus—"

"No, Shawn. I'm taking this. The girl is traumatized enough without your stupid jokes and comments."

"Um, Gus?"

"What, Shawn?" Gus barked, making Shawn blink before pointing towards the door. Gus turned, facing a somewhat amused young girl with a grim smile. She had brown hair with teal streaks—extensions, Gus supposed—and pretty blue eyes. She wore a ripped shirt, with the face of Jack Skellington imprinted on, and a bomber jacket with black skinny jeans and platform shoes. There was a nostalgic look in her face, like she was always recalling something about her parents, and a slightly haunted look in her eyes.

Shawn, taking in her appearance, decided he didn't know what to expect. He just didn't expect her to look so young.

"I'm sorry," Gus finally spoke up, breaking the contemplative and oddly comfortable silence. "Were you going somewhere? We can come back."

"No," her voice was small and delicate, a sharp contrast from her bold outfit. "I just got back. Is there something I can do for you two?"

Shawn elbowed Gus in the ribs, nodding shortly.

"Yes, I'm Burton Guster—Gus, if you like—and this is Shawn Spencer. We're psychic detectives for the SBPD; we come to talk about your parents' murder, Miss Levi. Could we come in?"

"Oh," she blinked, glancing inside the small house. "Yes, my roommate is out right now." She widened the door, stepping back. "Would you two like something to drink?"

"No," Gus quickly answered for the both of them, sending Shawn a warning glare as he seemed about to protest. "No, we're fine."

Levi nodded, leading the way to a small living area. Quietly, she sat down in an arm chair and nodded to the couch for them to sit. Once they were seated, she took a deep breath. "W-What did you want to ask me?"

Shawn spoke before Gus could open his mouth, "What exactly happened to lead up to you and your parents getting kidnapped?"

Levi slipped off her shoes and tucked her feet under her. "We were walking home after seeing a school play. Wicked, in fact. I had helped direct it, so my parents were excited for me and insisted on seeing every showing. My friends had invited us to an after-party, but I was tired and we left." Her eyes misted over, glazing with memories. "H-he came out of nowhere, clichéd as it sounds, he did. We didn't notice he was there until he hit my dad, and then he drugged me and my mom."

"Drugged you?"

Levi shrugged, pulling the bomber jacket tighter. "I'm not sure what it was. Chloroform, maybe. He just held cloths to our noses, next thing I knew we were in some sort of warehouse. But the warehouse was…it was full of these tools. Knives and chains and the like."

Gus' eyes widened. "Torture tools?" Levi nodded and Gus looked down at the ground. Shawn glanced around the room, nodding towards some pictures on the mantel.

"That your roommate?"

Levi glanced over and smiled that grim smile again. "Yeah, roommate and legal guardian. Rose is her name. She was a friend of the family, just turned eighteen when my parents died. She's been taking care of me since."

Shawn nodded, noting the antique-ish locket around her neck. He supposed it was a family heirloom, possibly the past possession of her mother.

"Can I ask you something?"

Gus smiled, having regained his train of thought. "Of course, anything."

"I thought the trail on Tobias had run cold. Why are you searching for him now?"

Shawn and Gus glanced at each other, Shawn forcing out a chuckle. "Well, we just want to see justice served."

Levi nodded, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Rose is gonna be home soon, and I have to make dinner. Is there anything else you need to ask?"

Gus shook his head, standing and pulling Shawn with him. "No, that'll be all." He handed a business card to her. "Call us if you remember anything that might help." Levi nodded, standing to see them out.

Shawn was oddly silent during the ride to the Psych office.


	5. Assassin is Born

_**A/N: **__ Well, I got a little bit too excited when I wrote this. I think I rushed things, and I'm sorry about that, but I also don't want to scrap the entire chapter. Consequently, I added a dream sequence for Shawny. Some of you might ask why there is a baby in the dream. Supposedly, if you have a dream, a baby in it represents yourself. Which is kinda weird 'cause now I have three Shawns...but I liked it so you can just deal with it. :)  
__**Disclaimer:**__ Still don't own Psych. However, I do own Levi and Rose.  
__**Warning:**__ This is still a high T, even if this chapter is rather slow. Please remember this.  
__**Pairing:**__ Bit o' everything.  
__**Chapter: **__Assassin is Born_

-----  
"Enough with the crap," Carlton growled, standing up sharply and slamming his hands on the table. _It_ didn't even have the decency to look surprised; instead _It_ stared nonchalantly up at him. "I'm sick and tired of your mind games."

"If you wanted me to speed up, you could have just asked. Besides, we're getting to the interesting parts."

Carlton rubbed his face, sinking back into his char. "Such as?"

"The nightmare your pretty boy had, and me kidnapping him."

Carlton glanced at _It_ between his fingers, sighing. "Just…hurry it up."

"You know, you ask for a lot. I don't think I've been treated quite fairly."

Carlton sucked in a breath, letting it out as a sharp, warning hissing sound. "Did those people you killed get treated fairly?"

"Yes." _It _breathed, leaning forward to stare him in the eye. "They did, all of them. They deserved it; they confessed their sins and how many lives were ruined. I gave them fair trial, warning, and they were punished. It wasn't my fault they were too weak to survive."

"You killed them."

"And how many people do you think wished they were dead after those people ruined their lives, detective?" Carlton refused to look up, and _It_ continued. "Precisely. I did what everyone else was afraid to, and I punished them."

Carlton nodded, lowering his voice. "What you did was wrong, no matter how good the intentions."

"As I said before. I'm becoming the Angel of Death either way."

---------------

_Burying the bodies was becoming bothersome, and I wondered what it would be like just to dump 'em in the ocean. But no, this was better. Less chance of someone finding the bodies._

_I wiped the sweat from my forehead and grinned lightly. Tobias Hankel. Dead._

_It felt good._

_-------------_

**Know this: one stupid move and I got more than enough plastic bags for your body parts.**

Shawn was having one of those out-of-body experiences, watching the scene fold out before him. He could hardly breathe, standing in a small closet and peeping out through the slats.

**Note to self: call Hefty with commercial idea.**

Shawn winced, and looked down. Stupid comment. He just couldn't help it at the time, he was scared and that was his distraction from the seriousness of the situation. The man threatening him—he couldn't quite recall the name, and had the vague idea that he should be alarmed by this—turned and pointed the gun at his head once more. Shawn sucked in a breath from his point, squeezing his eyes shut as the gunshot could be heard and a loud thump reached his ears.

After a few moments of regaining his courage, he opened his eyes and gagged. His body was…ripped apart. Blood was everywhere, and he could faintly make out the glint of a blade somewhere near his guts. A sound reached his ears, and he opened the closet door to see better. At his feet, amidst the blood and gore, was a small baby with fuzzy brown hair cooing up at him.

He was faintly familiar with the child, but couldn't place his finger on it. It took a moment to realize the image was fading.

He groggily opened his eyes; he was in a warehouse or cabin of some sort. And there was someone across from him, tied in a chair—a couple moments of struggling to stand revealing he too was tied up—and gagged. Wide, green eyes were staring just above his left shoulder and—wait, was that Rose tied up?

Something hit his head, and he cried out—briefly discovering he was not gagged. Black dots danced in his eyes. He vaguely made out a shape stepping in front of him.

Shawn blinked away the stars, letting his eyes travel upwards. "No, that can't be right. Why you?"

"Because I _had_ to, Shawn. It wasn't that I needed to or felt it would be nice, though at times it did feel nice and there was deep need to see the blood, but because it was the only way to get around it. The images, Shawn, engraved in my mind; this was the only way to stop them. And it's fascinating."

"It's sick. You can stop, just stop and turn yourself in."

"I can't, I'm in too deep. And so is she." Levi Deemer smiled down at him, twirling a knife in her right hand.

"Who?" Shawn asked, struggling against his bonds. "Rose? She helped you, Levi!"

Levi glanced behind her with a slight smile, "Rose? Oh, no, Shawn. I have no problem against her, except the fact that she helped seduce and rape a young man, afterwards killing him. But that's trivial. I'm talking about Levi."

Shawn squinted, shaking his head. "But you're—"

"Levi? Yes, yes, I know. I've heard it many times before, hold your breath." Levi sighed, running a hand through her hair. "You see, I am and I'm not."

"So…you're schizophrenic." Shawn muttered, still dazed from the pain in his head. How exactly had he gotten here?

"No, but it's a common mistake." Levi smiled, leaning against the wall. "I am one of two parts. You see, Levi has Dissociative Identity Disorder. More commonly known as multiple personalities. Normally triggered by a trauma of unfathomable size, something that the original persona can't handle. The mind splits, sometimes into more than two personalities. Levi only has me."

Shawn blinked, lifting his head to look at Levi—or whoever she was. "And who are you?"

"Alexis." Levi—Alexis—turned to him excitedly, eyes gleaming. "Wanna know what happened to Tobias or why you're here first?"

"Does it matter?"

"No, just bein' polite."

---------------

And so I begin telling my story, relishing in the looks Shawn would give me. So I may be…a bit darker than Levi. I don't deny it. But I think, if you searched enough, you'd discover that Levi has the exact amount of sadism in her.

She just hasn't found it.

But, for now, I'd have a bit of fun.


	6. High and Dry

_**A/N:**__ Meet Smart Agent Leeland, Worried Jules, and Caring Lassie. Yes, people, they know Shawn has been kidnapped.  
__**Disclaimer: **__Still don't own. But I can hope.  
__**Warning: **__Meh. Go look at the first Killer monologue.  
__**Pairing:**__ You might notice a bit of Shassie and Shules in this.  
__**Chapter:**__ Hello to High and Dry_

---  
Carlton looked up as Alexis paused, taking a deep breath.

Sometimes, he just didn't have words when dealing with these creeps.

----------------

"_Levi? Levi, are you okay?" Rose was overly concerned, and I took deep breaths so not to snap at her. I needed to pretend, I needed to be Levi for now. I looked down at my arm, the blood in little rivers. I was stupid to try and practice on myself, especially when I didn't call her first and ask if she was coming home early or not._

_I turned, lip trembling. "Will the pain ever go away, Rosie?"_

_Rose sighed, simply believing Levi had hurt herself in a way to relieve the pain of her parents' death. I smiled inwardly, mentally noting to call before I experiment again._

"_Eventually, Levi. Eventually."_

_-----------_

Agent Leeland paused before Carlton's desk, slapping a case file down. Lassiter blinked, tilting his head upwards to catch the FBI agent's eye. Agent Leeland smiled grimly.

"That is our new lead."

Lassiter, intrigued, picked up the case. It wasn't until Burton Guster's handwriting came to his attention that he looked up sharply.

"This is a missing person's report."

Agent Leeland nodded, sitting lightly on the corner of Lassiter's desk—thoroughly making the detective grimace. "Your psychic has been kidnapped, straight from his apartment. The place is in shambles and there are large traces of blood, Mr. Spencer's blood, near a back door."

Lassiter shifted in his chair, looking up. "How do we know this is in connection to the Sweeney Todd case?"

"Besides the note signed 'Sweeney Todd Serial Killer'?" Juliet came up, and Carlton could see her eyes were slightly puffy from crying. "There was a homemade knife, wiped clean, but left as a souvenir."

"Copycat?"

"No," Juliet sighed. "The homemade knife is a match to some of our vics, and that information wasn't released to be the public."

"Which begs the question," Agent Leeland added. "Why would the killer kidnap Mr. Spencer? It goes against the previous actions, the profile."

"Devolution?" Juliet suggested. Both Agent Leeland and Lassiter turned to stare at her, making her stammer slightly. "I-I read about devolution once, i-it's where the killer starts going on a rampage. Goes frantic. Starts killing as fast as possible. It's normally brought on by stress or-or some sort of trigger."

Agent Leeland nodded. "Maybe, but why kidnap him? It goes against what the killer believes."

"Maybe Spencer found something, something too close to him—or her." Lassiter added at the look Juliet gave him.

Agent Leeland shrugged, "It's something."

Lassiter sighed as the agent walked away, rubbing his face. He stood up, leading Juliet to her desk. Juliet looked tired the moment Agent Leeland had gone, and he helped lower her into her seat and leaned against her desk.

"How's Guster taking it?"

"Not good, Carlton." Juliet sunk her face into her hands. "And, honestly, neither am I. Him getting kidnapped and shot before wasn't nearly as bad as this. You saw the photos, didn't you?" Lassiter nodded. "He could die."

"He won't."

"But—"

"He won't, O'Hara." Lassiter pushed off the desk, opting to stand by her. "Because we will find him, and kill this bastard."

Juliet looked up, "What are we supposed to do?"

He leaned down, Juliet's eyes widening. "Act like normal. O'Hara, I want him found." Carlton Lassiter hissed in her ear, blue eyes scanning the entirety of the precinct.

Juliet sighed, feeling the tears prick and burn at her eyes. _No. _She wouldn't cry, not now. She had to be strong for Shawn.

He'd probably laugh at her for worrying if he were here.

--------------

"When Levi watched her parents get killed by Tobias, she couldn't handle it. So she quickly turned away, falling into the black of her mind. And I was born because, really, I was stronger. I could handle it, and Levi needed protecting. But I saw something she didn't. I saw elegance, watched the meticulous cuts, and found a rhythm to them. A dance, as it were.

"And I was fascinated. But Tobias saw the difference, the change in Levi, and didn't want to hurt me or even look at me. And yet, he knew it was too late. He became my mentor, taught me how to kill. But I found something sickening. I was becoming him; I was ruining lives and therefore ruining Levi. I knew I couldn't continue like that. So after my first human kill, I killed him.

"I kept his body for a long time, but eventually—and only after I perfected my skills—I buried him. Uniquely, far away from my other kills. He was…different. To both Levi and myself."

"So why am I here?" Shawn croaked, wondering how his voice became so hoarse so quickly. He was pretty sure that by now he should have some witty comment, but he was too tired to come up with one.

"You," Alexis drawled, turning to a desk of knives and tools he didn't notice before—he dimly noted to be worried about that later—and setting down the knife in her hand. "You are going to keep the police as far away from Levi as possible while I tie up some lose ends."

"I'm not helping you, Alexis."

Alexis turned, eyes flashing. "This isn't about me, you idiot. It's about Levi. She doesn't know I exist, and if she did her life would be ruined. I'm not here, Shawn, simply for a vendetta. I'm here to protect her. The knowledge of me will drive her insane, it will ruin her mind. She's hurt enough already, do you really want to add to her pain?"

Shawn looked up slowly, wishing his head wasn't so heavy and his vision so poor. What had she done to him? "Then go to a clinic."

"A clinic won't help either of us, Shawn. We had to endure the endless hours in a psychiatrist's office after her parents were killed, they didn't even recognize the signs. They sent her away with a clean bill of health, if not some minor PTSD." Alexis turned back to her table. "You saw her, Shawn. She still wears her mother's necklace because she can't bear the thought of drifting away from the memory of her parents, and yet the memory of their death is firm in her mind. I've tried holding it back, and have succeeded for the most part. But she can't know I exist, she can't know she's gone crazy from all of that."

Alexis sighed, and Shawn blinked. He didn't know much about the disorder, but he didn't think that one of the personas would fight so hard to protect the original. He looked down and nearly muttered his next words.

"What if I say no?"

Alexis picked up a large knife and turned to him. "I have my ways," she smiled.

"No," Shawn breathed, shaking his head. "You can't hurt me, you know that. I won't beg or plead; I've been shot and kidnapped before. You can't do anything to harm me, you need me." It took effort, but Shawn was able to place large amounts of strength and courage into his words. And for a moment, just a moment, it seemed as if the killer looming above him really couldn't do anything.

The next few seconds were torture, and later on he'd barely be able to remember it. A flash of teeth, a glint of a blade, an exhale of breath, a cruel laugh.

"Tell me, Shawn, have you ever witnessed a murder?"

--------------

I wished it wouldn't come to this, that I wouldn't have to kill her in front of him. But he chose his poison. I expect it might make him grow mad, that people will wonder what's wrong with him, but that's simply a side effect. His sanity means nothing to me; I will protect Levi at any and all costs.

And if he thinks for a single, solitary moment that I will hesitate to kill him if he turns on me, he's wrong. I'll find him, kill him, and find someone else to hold them back. Gus, perhaps?

But for now, I think I have him. He's mine to toy with, and as the song _Mi Mancherai _plays in the background and I make my cuts, I can just barely make out his sobs. He's mine, and I won't let him go.


	7. Not Fair

_**A/N: **__I've just been waiting to get this chapter out, as it's my absolute favorite so far. Although it's quite gory, I really think it's my best. And, yes, I added a __mention__ of Abigail and, yes, she'll be in here more. Also, Henry! I know I've been ignoring him, and I'm sorry 'bout that. We'll see them next chapter. Now, I have some rather bad news to give off. A family member passed on Friday. The result of this means I have to leave for at least two weeks for another state as family matters get cleared up. I don't know how often I'll have the chance to get online, so you may not be able to get updates for awhile. I'm terribly sorry about this. I will try to get on and give you some chapters, but I don't know if I'll be able to. I do hope everyone understands. This is a very temporary hiatus, I will be continuing. I have other chapters prepared. Now, please read and enjoy.  
__**Disclaimer: **__I own this about as much as I own the world.  
__**Warning:**__ Lots of gore. I told you it was a high T.  
__**Pairing: **__I kinda went a bit too far in a Shassie setting here, but I think it's fairly easy to see it either way.  
__**Chapter: **__It's Really Not Fair Anymore  
_

* * *

Carlton took deep breaths, silently thanking God that she didn't take the time to go into detail about the torture Shawn endured. But there was this glint in her eyes…happiness? Joy? He wasn't sure what it was. He just knew he didn't like it as the malicious grin spread about her lips, her teeth flashing in the light as she spoke.

He felt his shoulders droop in exhaustion as he leaned back in his chair. Alexis glanced over at him.

"Allons-y, eh?"

* * *

Shawn felt his breathing turn shallow as the blood coated him in turns. His eyes, weary as he was, were fixed upon the knife that glinted in the thick liquid of Rose's blood. He wondered briefly if this meant he'd stop dreaming about his own death. He tried to stop the thoughts that seemed nearly hysteric, nearly…nonchalant, but they kept coming. He couldn't help think that he was parched and could go for a smoothie, couldn't help think that the shirt Jules was in last had looked _really_ good on her. Couldn't help his tongue from peeping out from his lips and licking away the droplets of blood there.

He knew he was crying, and the salty water pouring from his eyes was performing a tango with the blood, but he didn't really feel it anymore. He knew that Rose was screaming, but the sound had died away from his ears. He lost all track of time.

When Alexis turned around, he wasn't sure where he was in the world or even if he _existed_. All he knew is that she didn't need to say a word.

"I'll do it."

And Alexis smiled brightly before walking behind him. It wasn't long before he heard the beeping of a phone and an automatic recording in a male voice.

"You'll find your pretty boy psychic and his precious cargo in a cabin, three miles west into the San Marcos Foothills Preserve. Bring medics."

It was short, impersonal, everything he suspected of Alexis. She came back around to face him, pulling off her gloves and tossing them into a waste basket with some paper in it. She proceeded to pull out a match from her pocket, strike it against the side of Shawn's chair, and throw it in. She stretched, glancing over at Shawn.

"I'll be going now. Make sure to take good care of Levi. She deserves it, even if I don't. I'm not asking for anything other than you making sure she lives a good life. I can't have her getting hurt. I was made with the purpose of protecting her, and I take that very seriously. Shawn," she sighed, kneeling and placing a hand on Shawn's knee. Shawn didn't even twitch. "I kill these bastards to protect her. The justice system is so flawed that they can't keep her safe from all those people. Only I can. But…I'm asking for you to help. Not necessarily join me, but help me. Keep her safe, and I'll be there to protect you and your friends.

"I know you've seen some things. Watched killers and rapists go free without so much as a scratch. They go free because of some glitch in the system, and I take care of those glitches. I bring the justice that the cops fail to. You said yourself, you were kidnapped and shot. And I know the details of that case. Those men would have gone free, stolen all that money, if you hadn't seen past it all. The cops didn't even dig a little further than what was in front of their eyes.

"They're blind to it, we both know that. But know that as long as you keep her safe from the cops, I will keep you and all you choose safe from the flaws in the justice system that threaten to kill us all. Alright?"

Shawn wasn't sure if he nodded or not, but Alexis smiled again and stood up. She sat down in a chair, settling down and making herself comfortable, and Shawn watched as she seemingly blacked out with her eyes rolling back.

It wasn't long, maybe thirty minutes, before Santa Barbara Police swarmed the place, weapons drawn and shouts filling the air. Shawn watched with hooded eyes as Lassiter, Leeland and Juliet rushed towards him. Juliet gagged slightly at all the blood, and he saw her hand twitch as though she were repressing the urge to cover her nose.

Lassiter was grim, emotionless, as he took in the sight. He knelt at Shawn's side and began tugging at the knots with fervor, gun laid at his side. He kept glancing up at Shawn, as though afraid the man was some hallucination and he would disappear before Lassiter's eyes.

Agent Leeland was over at Alexis—no, Levi now—and trying to wake her up. Shawn watched, transfixed, as she stirred and started in Leeland's arms. Her eyes roamed, landing on Shawn, then on the bloody sight of Rose. Shawn closed his eyes tightly as the scream erupted.

"Rose! No, no, Rose!" Levi cried, struggling against Leeland as he tried to hold her back. Somehow, Levi gathered the strength to push the older and stronger man away and run towards her long dead guardian. Everyone watched in horror as Levi sunk in the puddle of blood and picked up the severed head that belong to Rose.

Levi sobbed, the blood staining everything on her, as she pressed her lips over and over onto the cold flesh of Rose's forehead, cheek, and lips, completely ignorant of the torn and ripped skin and blood that covered her face. She caressed the black hair, gazing into the one green eye that was left. Levi's whole body wracked with the force of her crying, tears streaking her cheeks, and gasped for each struggling breath.

Three or so men came forward, prying her away, and Shawn watched in complete horror as her body spasmed against the men and her screams echoed against the walls. Another man came forward, picking up the head gently and placing it in a plastic evidence bag. The haunted eye, glazed over with death, stared straight at Shawn. No, it stared _into_ him. Into his soul and everything that was _him._

Shawn felt a pair of strong arms lift his numbed body off the chair, and he looked up to gaze into the icy blue eyes—such a contrast from the dead ivy green—of Lassiter. He shuddered, gripping the white material of Lassiter's—no, it was Carlton now, because Lassiter was too impersonal after all this—dress shirt.

Outside, the shouts of Gus and his Dad and Abigail met his ear. Carlton hesitated and glanced down at Shawn, who shook his head. He couldn't see them, not now. Not like this. Carlton nodded in understanding and carried him to the ambulance, setting Shawn down on the stretcher that waited for him. Immediately, medics surrounded him and he lost sight of Carlton.

"Carlton? No, Carlton!" he struggled against the men holding him down until the man he cried for came into view. Slowly, Shawn relaxed and transfixed his gaze onto Carlton's face. One of the men stuck him with a needle, but he wasn't paying attention. He just needed to see Carlton. He needed to forget. Just for now. Just for…

…now.

Carlton watched as Shawn drifted away, heavy foreboding weighing down his insides.


	8. Cold Fire

_**A/N: **Well, I'm back. Thanks for everyone who shared their condolences and patience with me, I appreciate it more than you know. And now, the next sorta cliff-hanger chapter! __Who was wondering what everyone was doing to find Shawn? No one? Well…shoot.  
__**Disclaimer:**__ I own but a story line, a character, and a very sick mind. I don't think one can sue you for that.  
__**Warning:**__ Duh. Still me, still this story. Do I need to mention the sick mind again?  
__**Chapter:**__ Cold Fire_

* * *

Alexis frowned slightly, tilting her head forward so the brown hair fell in front of her eyes. "No, wait…I'm missing something, aren't I?"

Lassiter shuddered, turning his face away. Part of him didn't want to know what she would say next, the other part—the one true to the protocol and being a cop—knew and needed her to continue. He took a deep breath, running his hand through the short-cropped hair. He leaned back in his chair, staring down Alexis to the best of his ability. _She's just a kid, Carlton. _**No. She's a murderer.**

"Hmm," Alexis hummed as she tried to find a place to continue. "Ah, yes. I got it."

**

* * *

**

**Hours Before**

Gus stumbled on his way up the steps to Henry Spencer's home, fear gripping tightly in his chest. He didn't know exactly what he would say or how he would say it and, honestly, either way _someone_ would kill him. Be it Henry for not telling him or Lassiter for telling him. But, somehow, nothing really mattered. Nothing mattered but Shawn.

Gus wasn't entirely sure why _Shawn_ had to be kidnapped _again_; all he knew was that he had to tell everyone. Well, everyone that was smart enough not to go to local news station. Rubbing his hands nervously on the material of his slacks, Gus stepped towards the door. He had the feeling that as soon as he told Henry, mayhem would ensue.

His knock was soft, unsure, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming in frustration when the door wasn't answered straight away. The conflicting feelings ran through his veins, the fresh tendrils of a migraine latching onto his brain as Henry opened the door.

"Gus? What are you doing here? And where the hell is Shawn? He's supposed to—"

"Mr. Spencer," Gus broke in gently, so gently that Henry narrowed his eyes and stopped the constant flow of questions. Gus glanced down at his feet, not entirely sure he wanted to see Henry's reaction. "I'm here to tell you about Shawn."

Henry paled ever so slightly; he could recall the last time Gus used that tone, and it hadn't ended well. Still, he restrained himself, nodding slightly to tell the darker man to go on.

"He's been kidnapped."

* * *

The precinct was in a flurry—worse than before, if that was possible. Nearly everyone there loved the faux psychic, even those who didn't wish to say so. Everyone could recall when Shawn had been kidnapped last, could recall the grim jokes he made about his arm and the way he seemed to be so very exhausted in the end. And it wasn't like they were blind. Shawn had changed after that, and everyone knew it. They weren't stupid; they had noticed the bags under his eyes for the following weeks and the way he seemed to be trying to do _anything_ to take his mind off of everything.

They knew how Shawn had wanted to get on this case—despite it being the worst thing they had seen. Somehow, Shawn had gotten in without meaning to. And yet, when questioned, Gus was adamant that Shawn had been focusing on the cold case for the moment. There was no explanation for him being kidnapped, yet he was. It was a flurry of contradictions that raged in everyone's mind.

How could this happen? Should they have prevented it? Were they so blind, so focused on trying to _find_ the Sweeney Todd serial killer that they missed the signs? _Were_ there any signs? Could they save Shawn? Would he die? Where _was _he? What did the killer want with him? Would they get a ransom note or phone call? Was this personal or was some statement trying to be made? Was it about money? Attention? Why kidnap Shawn? Why not Agent Leeland? Why not anyone else?

But no one was more worried than those who spent every single case with the annoying psychic. At the moment, the two detectives and their chief were arguing heatedly. Little snippets of the conversation could be heard, but so much was still to be done that they ignored the spectacle in favor of working towards finding the bastard who kidnapped their friend.

Lassiter, eyes ablaze with a cold fire, used his height to intimidate the women, arms crossed and in a tense stance. "I don't understand the problem. The last time I went looking for him, I came back with him _alive_. How is this any different?"

Beside him, Juliet winced at the cool calmness of his voice. Somehow, it was a hundred fold worse than when the man yelled. She wasn't sure why at the moment, but Lassiter was taking this hard. The red tape that held him back probably wasn't helping, nor was the fact that this was the second time he lost the same man. She imagined it was a sense of duty that pulled this reaction from him, and she silently wished he would simply yell or scream or even throw something. Karen seemed a bit more impassive than her, but her eyes told every single fear she felt upon Shawn's behalf.

"Lassiter, this is an extremely sensitive case. It's not as before. This is a high profile case, and we have no idea where Spencer is or what's being down to him."

"Which is exactly why we need men out there," Lassiter hissed, and Juliet nearly believed he would bare his teeth at them. "We can't sit by silently and wait for this bastard to call us up; we have to be out there searching."

"I agree with Carlton," Juliet finally piped up, shaking her head slightly. "How are we going to find him if we don't search?"

Vick shook her head, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Believe me, detective; I want to be sending men out there to search as much as you."

"Then why aren't you?" Lassiter stepped closer, making Vick glance up.

"I have orders, Lassiter. Orders from the FBI, I have to follow them." Vick sighed and glanced around the station. "I'm sorry, guys. I really am."

Without another word, Lassiter stalked away. Juliet turned to Vick, tears threatening to spill.

"Tell me we'll get him back safe."

Vick gazed at the junior detective, a motherly concern on her face. "You know I can't, O'Hara."

* * *

Abigail fell to her knees, fear constricting her throat. The phone had slipped from her hand, though she could just barely hear Gus in the background, as she found it harder and harder to breathe. She closed her eyes tightly as a strangled version of Shawn's name passed her lips.

All of Santa Barbara knew of the Sweeney Todd murderer, some even saying that what the killer did was right. But all knew that what the killer did to its victims; descriptions leaking out here and there. And suddenly Abigail understood. She understood Shawn's need to catch these murderers.

What they did was wrong, even if they were a 'vigilante'. But right now, she wished Shawn never started this psychic detective agency. She just wanted him home.

* * *

Henry growled in anger as he pushed past the rookies that held him back, stalking straight towards Agent Leeland.

"Where the hell is my son?" He hissed, grasping onto his collar. Leeland looked down passively, an eyebrow raised.

"I suggest you let go of me before I arrest you for assault, Mr. Spencer." He murmured, a cool chill to his voice. Henry eyes him for a moment—contemplating the pros and cons of shoving his fist into Leeland's overly-perfect jaw—before releasing the agent and stepping back. "Good. Now, Mr. Spencer, you are an ex-cop, are you not?"

Henry nodded shortly, not trusting himself to speak.

"Then you know the procedure quite well, I imagine, when it comes to high profile cases such as these. I assure you that everything is being done that can be done to get your son back in one piece, as well as catching this murderer. I also imagine that you know how sensitive this is and how it must be kept quiet."

Once again, Henry repressed the urge to punch the man and took a deep breath. "What are you doing to find him?"

"As much as we can, Mr. Spencer."

Henry turned away, looking around for a moment at the flurry of people. His hands clenched and unclenched as he slowly took in the words and the fact that there was _nothing_ he could do. It was an utterly helpless feeling, and one he desperately wished to rid himself of. And as McNabb's call echoed throughout the precinct, he was given that chance.

"Agent Leeland, we have contact!"


	9. Can't Kill a Man

_**A/N:**__ Well, I was __asked__ to do Shawn-whumpage. Unfortunately, people have to be very careful when they do requests. I'm an evil, evil person who adores hurting characters. Deal with it.  
__**Disclaimer:**__ I've said it nine times now; do I really need to continue? Yes? Darn. Well, USA Network owns Psych along with the creator—whose name escapes me. Specific actors and actresses belong to themselves, because otherwise it would be just __weird__.  
__**Warning:**__ Slowing down on gore and the like, but I'm not done.  
__**Chapter:**__ Can't Kill a Man When He's Dead_

* * *

Alexis smiled over at Carlton, "You remember what happens next, don't you?"

Carlton growled slightly as he looked away. Yeah, he remembered. He remembered a little too well.

* * *

Shawn was swimming—no, floating—no, flying—no…he wasn't sure anymore. He was in a sea of red, unable to move and yet constantly moving all at the same time. Like…like something was pushing him along his way. There was a vague sound in the air so it was not silent, though he could not make it out. Talking? Singing? Buzzing? He didn't know, but it was there. And the red…it had begun to suffocate him, swirling around and around and around so he could not get his bearings.

He felt like a foolish little boy who got off a boat and unto dry land, stumbling and swaying as the ground beneath him moved side to side. He wanted to retch and cry and laugh all at once, but he remained stuck, unable to move, as he flowed back and forth like a piece of paper in the tide.

And then…

Nothing. He was in vast nothingness, lying on his back—though he had the vague sense that he wasn't _actually_ lying on anything. He wasn't sure of anything anymore, nor could he make sense of the music that suddenly flowed to him. A guitar…a foreign language….soothing him. It wrapped around him like a secure blanket and Shawn wanted nothing more than to sleep like that for eternity, just as long as the music and the voice never stopped.

He was neither dead nor alive; he was neither soul nor body. He was suddenly everything and nothing all at once as the music washed over him. He had no memory or nightmares or dreams to disturb him, only the music echoed in his ears. He wondered, briefly, if this was death, and if it was then he'd be vey content to stay that way.

But the music stopped, and he nearly cried from the loss, and a face appeared above him. It was a beautiful face…sad and reminiscent of better days. A young girl… And yet not, for it was like staring at two things at one time. The other part was…it was less innocent. Harder. But the eyes remained the same, the slight haunt to them and the cold fire.

The two beings complimented each other so beautifully that Shawn wasn't afraid. He felt as if neither could harm him, for some reason, and yet at the same time he knew he should be alarmed. It was a conflicting emotion that filled him, but he was rather sure that this entire journey had been conflicting.

And then the face faded and he was alone. Alone with the silence.

* * *

The paramedics had rushed Spencer—should he be called Shawn now?—away for a CT scan, and Carlton was left alone in the waiting room until Henry, Gus and Abigail arrived. Juliet had followed shortly, muttering things about Shawn and Levi and how damned stupid all of this was.

Lassiter couldn't help agree.

He wanted to pace, wanted to get up and throw the chairs around, but instead sat rigidly in his chair and watched Abigail cry and Gus try to comfort her and Henry yell at the nurses and Juliet cradle her head in her hands. He wasn't used to waiting like this. Waiting as the evidence was collected, waiting as one of his men was having God-knows-what being done to them, waiting for the statement that would make or break the case. He hated waiting. Now and forever.

He wasn't even sure why they sent Shawn to get a CT scan because he had looked fine. A bit shell-shocked, but fine. He had spoke—cried out, more like, and for _Carlton_ no less—and seemed lucid enough to understand what was happening, he even had hummed in the ambulance. A tune Carlton didn't know, with many swells and dips, but he'd listened whole-heartedly. The paramedics said he was probably in REM from the drugs they gave him, but it was a beautiful song.

Carlton had so many questions. About the case, of course. Did Shawn see the murderer? Why was he taken? Did Shawn _notice_ anything? Why were Levi and Rose taken with him?

Carlton sighed. Did he mention he hated waiting?

* * *

Juliet couldn't bring herself to cry, not with the migraine that was pulling at her senses. She had asked one of the nurses if they could get her some aspirin—it was a _hospital_ for God's sake—and was promptly told that all medicine was for the patients. Normally, she knew what to do when it came to headaches or migraines, but that involved darks rooms and medicine and curling into a pathetic ball. She couldn't leave here, not now.

Two times in a row, Shawn Spencer was kidnapped. Two times! And, ridiculous as it sounded, she felt responsible—no, _was_ responsible. Shawn was her friend—even if, at times, she wondered what it would be like if it were more—and somehow she wasn't there for him when he clearly needed it. She let him down twice in a row, now.

She could only imagine how Gus felt.

She didn't dare lift her head, knowing the light would be way too bright for her to handle, but listened intently to Abigail's sobs and Gus' attempts to comfort. Juliet felt a wave of guilt hit her heart. Of course, Abigail would be just as upset—if not more—as any single one of them. This was the second time for her, and she hadn't even been notified the first time he was kidnapped.

But then, she was probably there after the fact, nursing Shawn back to health. And probably more.

Juliet growled at herself for such thoughts. Now wasn't the time to act jealous. Right now, she had to hold on and be patient and caring, if only for Shawn.

* * *

Henry Spencer was angry as hell.

He knew nothing at the moment, and he imagined the hounding of the nurses really wasn't helping that fact, but that didn't matter. It made _him_ feel better.

And as he finally sat down, for the umpteenth time, he caught sight of a doctor hurrying towards them. Everyone around Henry tensed, eyes shifting towards the doctor frantically, silently urging him to get there faster.

"Are you all here for Shawn Spencer?"

There was silent acknowledgment as everyone shifted into an upright stance in their seats. Even Abigail hushed her sobs to listen.

"Mr. Spencer has Second-impact Syndrome, an extremely rare condition in which the brain swells rapidly and dangerously after being hit before a previous concussion has healed. I'm sorry to say that such a condition is often fatal, and those who are not killed become seriously disabled. Unfortunately, because of so little documentation of SIS, there isn't much we can do."

"Shawn didn't have a concussion," Henry growled, standing up quickly. The doctor looked at him sympathetically.

"It's not uncommon for the initial trauma to go unreported. A slight bump of the head could have done it, I'm afraid."

Gus appeared to be in shock a moment before stepping forward, "Are you sure it's not being confused with a subdural hematoma or repetitive head injury syndrome?"

The doctor looked over at Gus for a moment, surprise lingering on his features. "Are you a doctor?"

Gus shrugged. "Pharmaceutical Rep."

"Well, in answer to you question, no. SIS is distinct from both. We're quite sure as to what this is, even if we're not sure as to how it happened."

Henry growled low in his throat, hands clenching tightly. "Can you perform surgery?"

"No, surgery doesn't help in cases like these. Treatment requires immediate recognition and includes osmotic agents and hyperventilation to lessen intracranial pressure. The mortality rate approaches 50% while disability is closer to a hundred. When SIS is not fatal, the effects are similar to severe brain trauma. Such as muscle spasms, tenseness, emotional instability, hallucinations, post-traumatic epilepsy, mental disability, paralysis, coma, and brain death."

Henry lowered into his seat, his face taking on a deathly pallor as the news sunk in. He might lose his only son…lose him because some _bastard_ kidnapped him for no reason. His heart was suddenly constricted and he felt the urge to cry, an urge he hadn't felt for years. Around him, the others were silent, taking in the news as well as they could.

Juliet seemed about to faint, a hand pressed to her chest as she struggled to breath. Gus had wrapped Abigail in his arms, silently crying along with her, nose buried in the dark hair. Lassiter had a horrified look on his face and had backed up many paces, eyes darting back and forth.

The doctor appeared to be slightly worried for them, gazing at each one in alarm. "Normally we're not allowed to let anyone but spouses and family in…but I'll see what I can do."

Everyone turned him a grateful look as he walked away before turning to look at each other. They were losing Shawn before they even got him back.


	10. Invincibility Takes Sacrifice

_**A/N:**__ I hated writing this chapter. If only because of my terrific, Shawn-whumping ending. Go on, grab your pitchforks and torches, I deserve it. Just don't…hurt my hands or face. Kinda need it to keep writing.  
__**Disclaimer:**__ I owned an oatmeal raisin cookie, but I ate that. So…yeah, I don't own very much in this or any case. No sue?  
__**Warning:**__ Few mentions of blood, still my sick mind.  
__**Chapter:**__ Invincibility Takes Sacrifice_

* * *

Shawn was utterly pale against the white sheets; brown hair that was normally always spiked now fell into his eyes. A couple of scratches and bruises littered him, and a nurse had informed them that he had drugs in his system. He looked troubled, even in a semi-coma, and often spasmed against the sheets. Abigail was at his right side, hand clasped in two of her own. Next to her, Gus was seated, but he'd slumped over onto the bed and was now softly snoring.

Henry was across from them, slumped in his chair with his arms crossed as he gazed at his son. He was informed that death normally occurs a few minutes after the trauma, and they were optimistic that Shawn would survive. But still, he had not moved as he watched Shawn's chest move up and down gently. Fear had gripped his heart, and he didn't want to leave his boy's side.

Juliet was in a corner, seated in the uncomfortable recliner, and wringing her hands nervously. She had researched all she could on SIS—per request Henry Spencer—and found much the same that the doctor said. After that, she had gotten more and more worried. She hadn't slept for over forty hours, and the bags had begun to show under her eyes, exhaustion creating red little veins in her eyes. Carlton stood next to her, face remaining stoic as he watched the heart monitor vigorously. The only indication of worry was the slight shake in his hands and the way his breath would hitch occasionally should Shawn's heart slow even one beat.

This was a battle none of them could fight for Shawn, no matter how much they wanted to.

* * *

It was dark when Shawn finally opened his eyes—though the small light that the moon and stars gave off through the window was enough to give him a pounding headache. He sucked in a breath, blinking several times before his vision cleared. Biting his lip to keep in a groan, Shawn moved to sit up until he noticed the man sitting in a chair next to his bed.

Shawn felt panic grow inside him as he realized he didn't know where he was or how he got there or who that man was. He felt—momentarily forgetting all training he had from his father—a sharp pain in his chest as he began to hyperventilate. His arm's started twitching of their own accord and suddenly he had no control of anything—and so he did the only thing he could. He screamed bloody murder.

For weeks, months, years after he'd be embarrassed of this fact. But at that moment, nothing mattered but his safety. _Keep her safe, and I'll protect your friends and family._ It was a dim thought—a memory?—in the back of his head, but it hurt so bad that he just screamed harder. The screaming, already, had caused a flurry of action.

Men and women in scrubs and white lab coats had rushed in, trying to restrain him. The man in the chair had jumped to his feet and the light was on, though Shawn didn't get to see his face. He noticed, briefly and painfully, that some other people had entered the room in civilian clothes—no, not civilian clothes. _Lassie's clothes._ He knew, even if Shawn had just seen a glimpse, Lassie was there.

"Lassie? Lassie, is that you?" He didn't know when he'd stopped thrashing or screaming and just started to sob freely. The doctors and nurses, slightly in shock, parted from Shawn as Lassie came up.

"Shawn? Are you okay, can you remember anything?" He sounded frantic—as if it was very important that Shawn do so.

But Shawn shook his head slightly—wincing at the immediate, sharp pain he felt—much to Carlton's dismay. "I-I tried but it hurts, it hurts too badly. Where am I, Lassie, what happened?"

Lassiter frowned slightly, glancing at one of the doctors. The doctor nodded, coming forward to whisper in his ear. Relief lit in Lassiter's eyes, and Shawn couldn't help but wonder what was said. Lassiter turned back, leaning against the bed slightly.

"Shawn, what do you remember? I need you to remember as much as you can before I tell you anything."

Shawn frowned, glancing around the room. He realized, with a start, that it was his father that had been sitting next to him. In the background, crowded by the door, were Abigail and Jules and Gus. The clock—analog on the wall—stated 2:38, which meant that someone had blown up the sun or they were talking AM. The beeping of the heart monitor, the scratchy blanket and clothes, the IV drip attached to his arm attested for the fact he was in the hospital. Everyone, he noticed, had become deathly silent as he took in his whereabouts and began to think.

The sharp pain had lulled somewhat—he took it for granted that it was because the nurse had changed the IV bag to some drug or another—to a dull throb. His lips were chapped and he felt slightly light-headed.

_The blood poured from Rose's severed head, drenching the pale arms that held it so tenderly. Sobs reached his ear as bile rose in his throat._

Shawn felt his eyes widen slightly—quickly disguising it as a wince—as he began to recall things he wished he never would. The images, engraved in his mind, flashed before his eyes. The walls and ceiling had begun to drip blood, and Shawn felt the strong urge to retch. He let his head fall black, closing his eyes tightly in pain—physical and emotional.

Whimpering slightly, he managed to choke out a sentence. "Last thing I remember is being hit over the head in my apartment after we talked to Levi." It was a lie, but it didn't matter. Protect Levi, protect himself, protect his friends and family. It was a simply command, and he wasn't going to ignore it. Not after that.

Near the door, he heard Abigail let out a slight sob and suddenly he felt his insides constrict tightly. Why was she crying? Was it bad that he didn't remember—pretended not to, at least?

"Shawn, you were abducted by our killer. You-we think you witnessed a murder, our killer, and that you're suffering from Second-impact Syndrome. There was a chance of brain damage, so we're unable to tell if you'll regain your memory, but you actually survived and that's good for now." Lassiter smiled shakily. "Do you know where you are and who's around you?"

Shawn frowned slightly—feeling as though they were keeping some big secret from him—before nodding. "Hospital. You, dad, Jules, Abigail, Gus. And a bunch of really hot nurses, and handsome strangers." He joked mildly, grinning and wincing at the pain it brought about.

Lassiter turned, looking at the doctor with a hopeful gleam in his eyes. The doctor smiled back, nodding.

"It's enough for treatment. If we're lucky, all Mr. Spencer is missing is some memory."

Everyone had breathed a collective sight of relief before turning to exit the room. Shawn furrowed his brow suddenly, pain gripping at his body. Next to him, the beeping of the heart monitor increased, making the doctors and nurses look back. Shawn struggled for breath, looking up sharply and staring at each and every one of his friends.

"Why can't I feel my legs?"


	11. Hell's Blushing Virgin

_**A/N:**__ Dragging it out. Oh, yes I am. You must suffer! Suuuuffer. Anyways, this is immensely short. I hate that it is so, but I guess I must suffer that for making y'all suffer. I was feeling particularly gruesome near the end and decided to make Alexis as sadistic as possible. It was really fun, actually. It might become a regular thing, slowly progressing worse, as the story continues. Carly really hit a nerve there, I suppose. But it was kinda her fault so…  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Psych. I wish I did.  
**Warning: **This is still me, still my story. I get gruesome sometimes for some parties.  
**Chapter:** Hell's Blushing Virgin_

* * *

Alexis tapped the table lightly, a contemplative look passing her features. "You were very stressed when you learned Shawn was crippled. Why was that, detective? I mean, I can understand Abigail and Gus and Juliet and Henry. They all care for him deeply, make a point of it often. But you? No…you're the missing piece."

"Get on with it," Carlton snarled, leaning forward threateningly. Alexis' face hardened.

"Why were you so worried, huh? He means nothing to you, to this department. He brought you down, not built you up as you so wanted. What made you so anxious for the man?"

"_That's none of your business_."

Alexis leaned forward as far as her cuffs would allow, her voice lowering to a cold whisper that would echo through Carlton long after the interview was over. "But it wasn't yours either, was it?" Alexis leaned back again, her face regaining that cold nonchalance. "Levi was very worried—terrified, I suppose—when she learned Shawn couldn't remember anything. She had been out cold the entire time, but she kept murmuring afterwards that she should've noticed the connection. Though I take offence to that.

"I was much better than Tobias."

Carlton leaned back, flicking through the case in his hands till he brought out a certain few photos. He gazed at the faces for a moment before letting his eyes wander up to Alexis. "Do you remember these people?"

He set the photos down before him, sliding them over to Alexis slowly and deliberately. Alexis stared down for a moment, pain flickering across her features momentarily.

The first was of Chris Deemer, his face mutilated severely by the hand of Tobias. The picture was new, fresh, but the skin had not rotted severely as you would think. The flesh was pale-blue and hung from what would've been the skeleton frame. Blood, sinew, and splintered bone gaped at her through the picture. Part of Chris' nose had been crushed in and where once was beautiful skin now lay a mockery; twisted across the cheek bone in one place, only to be absent the next.

Her eyes flickered to the next picture, just as gruesome—if not more—than the last. Amanda's head was smashed in, poorly corrected by the coroner, skin permanently tinted red from all the blood—blood that could not be washed away. Alexis' eyes sparkled as she gazed down wards at the flesh. How odd…it was the color of rubies. Beautiful, rich rubies… Her hand moved towards the picture of its own accord, jarring to a stop from the chain, inches away from the picture. She frowned, retracting her hand.

"We found them a few yards away from your graveyard," Carlton spoke up, but Alexis didn't stop gazing at the pictures of her—Levi's parents. "They were well preserved, unlike any other body there. It took quite a while but we were able to indentify them in the end, right after you were arrested. Why did you take such well care of them?"

Alexis looked up slowly, her face a blank slate. It was terrifying, in a way. He had suddenly broken the one thread that kept her in this world, the one piece that she held so dear. Her eyes were hollow, her voice calm—oh, so calm. "So I became, as befitted my delicate birth, the most casual bride of the murdering scum of earth."

Carlton sighed, pulling out another picture and slapping it on the table.

Tobias stood out, stabbed over and over, mutilated. Eyes wide open, staring into her soul. The top right of his skull was shattered by a bullet—one shot from her own gun, her own hands—obliterating the right side of his face from view. But the left…oh, how calm and peaceful it was. The man was a murderous bastard, but he was beautiful. Beautiful as the face of death itself.

"And Tobias? It took a while longer to find him…but it was fairly obvious who it was. He was nearly as well preserved, and why is that? He killed these two, whom you also preserved. None of these people mean anything to you, why care for them so….lovingly?"

"Salve Regina, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of death. Amen. "

"Why, Alexis?" Carlton hissed, leaning forward. "Why?"

"Take the clouds from your eyes and see me as I really am. You have shown me the sky, but what good is the sky to a creature who'll never do any better than crawl?"

Carlton frowned, tilting his head to hear her whispered words.

"God forgive me," she looks up slowly, a malicious smile spreading her lips as she gazes into the blue eyes staring intently back. "For I _will_ sin."


End file.
